


A True Jedi

by Elendiliel



Series: Lightning Strikes [5]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:27:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28668456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elendiliel/pseuds/Elendiliel
Summary: Diplomatic protection is probably Lightning Squadron's least favourite type of assignment. Especially with these particular diplomats. But things are about to get a whole lot more interesting - and dangerous in more ways than one.
Series: Lightning Strikes [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2087898
Kudos: 2





	A True Jedi

**Author's Note:**

> Chronology: some time between "Lair of Grievous" and "The Citadel", and after "Brothers in Arms".

“It wouldn’t be so bad,” commented CT-1284, or, as he was generally known, Spark, “if they seemed to realise that we _exist_.”

“Trust me, it could be worse.” General Abbasa, Hel to her teammates here in private and Helli to everyone else bar her superiors, didn’t bother to conceal just how fed up she was. “If Senator Taa calls me _his dear_ or a _dear girl_ one more time, I may break something. Likewise if Senator Burtoni makes another remark behind my back when she knows I’m listening. Can’t _stand_ being patronised. And if someone wants to insult me, I’d rather they did it to my face.” Helli had to admit to herself that her appearance did rather invite patronisation. Although Picti genetics and rigorous training had given her a build most male athletes would be happy to have, her face still had some of the softness of childhood, and her team’s high success rate and low body count meant that the hard-eyed veteran look was less apparent in her than in other commanders in this war. She had taken to wearing her sleeves rolled up and her sabre prominently displayed, but it made no difference. All the same, there was _no_ excuse for the Kamino senator’s rudeness towards her and her brothers.

“Just our luck to get stuck with this lot.” Fives spoke for them all. Lightning Squadron was on escort duty, protecting a group of senators on their way to Coruscant after some summit or other. Politics had never interested Helli. Her duty was all that mattered. But she had picked up enough to know that their charges included some of the loudest voices in the pro-escalation faction. Burtoni of Kamino, Shrees of the Techno Union, Dodd of the Trade Federation, Card of the Banking Clan… vested interests galore. And their yes-men, like Taa of Ryloth. When Helli had assured Master Windu that her men could handle anything, she hadn’t known that they would be looking after the people who wanted more and more of their brothers to be created and killed. The whole idea of making – and _buying_ – sapient beings, clone or droid, by the million only to send them into battle turned Helli’s stomach. But like it or not, the senators deserved the same protection as the soldiers and civilians she wanted so desperately to shield – and, unlike so many, would get it.

“I’d much rather we’d been assigned to the other group.” Echo, Fives’ oldest friend, also voiced their universal opinion. There were two ships making that journey. The other housed the pro-mediation faction, led by Senators Amidala, Organa and Mothma. The two sides were barely on speaking terms, hence the physical split.

“You and me both.” Helli never hid her feelings from her team, unless her duty demanded it. “I think General Skywalker got there first.”

“Of course he did.” The knowingness in Fives’ tone intrigued Helli. Fives had served with the legendary General several times and knew him far better than she did. But before she could ask what he meant, her commlink summoned her to the bridge, and she complied with alacrity.

Which was just as well. The ship had had to stop to refuel (Helli made a mental note to check the fuelling procedure at their departure point as soon as possible) and had been preparing to leave when long-range scanners had picked up another ship, not logged on any official list and coming in fast, but with enough control that this couldn’t be an emergency stop. Seps.

The first visual scans had just come in. A Sep frigate for certain. Helli’s training took over. “Get us out into deep space, away from civilian casualties, and prep for hyperspace as soon as you can. How long will that take?”

The ship’s captain hadn’t listened to a word she’d said after the first half-dozen. “Excuse me, young lady, what makes you think you can give me orders? I understood that you were here to protect the passengers, not take over my ship.”

“I _am_ under orders to protect the passengers, and having room to manoeuvre will help. I also have a duty to you, your crew, and the people on the fuelling station. As for my authority – I’m a Jedi Knight and a General in the Grand Army of the Republic, and I’d be obliged if you didn’t forget it. Now, how long will it take to get us to hyperspace?”

“Longer now!” The captain had to shout as an opening salvo from the approaching ship hit their forward section. The shields held, but it was a near thing while they were at rest. _Now_ the captain snapped into action, ordering the crew to battle stations and increased power to the forward shields as Helli’s suggestions were implemented. She didn’t bother contacting her team just yet, knowing that Torrent would have the situation well in hand for the time being.

 _Negotiate first_. That was Helli’s way. But the opposing ship wasn’t responding to any attempt at communication. She wondered who was in charge. Sep ships always had an organic or tactical droid commander, generally of the gloating persuasion. Either this one was _highly_ atypical or he’d (there were very few females high up in the Sep military hierarchy, according to intelligence) left the bridge. She could picture it so clearly: battle droids debating what to do about the incoming signals, not programmed for initiative. How easy would it be to change that, to put these clearly sapient droids on an equal intellectual and subsequently legal footing with organics?

Time to wonder about that later. The captain was getting impatient. “How much longer are you going to try to reason with these animals?”

“Seps aren’t animals. Even most of their droids are as sapient as you or I, let alone their organic commanders. Even so, they should have responded by now. Scan for life signs.” That last sentence was directed to another officer, who did as she asked. Nothing on the ship, but there _was_ a faint trace moving towards them at speed. Consistent with a cloaked vessel. A boarding party.

“Can you compute its trajectory?” Helli and the captain spoke at the same time. The officer could. Cargo bay. Helli made straight for the lift that would take her there. Her Force-instincts, together with the life-sign profile, told her who was coming aboard, and she _had_ to be the one to meet him.

“Where are you going?” Wasn’t it obvious? Helli answered the captain as calmly as she could. “To do the rest of my job. You can take it from here. I don’t recommend firing back unnecessarily, but if you have to shoot, go for nav, comms or the hyperdrive. And get us to hyperspace as soon as possible.”

“Gladly.” Another salvo shook the ship. Leaving the captain to focus on the distraction, Helli headed towards the likely location of the primary attack as fast as she could, updating Spark on the way.

“They’ve launched a boarding party. I’ll meet them in the cargo bay, slow them as much as I can. Are you with the senators?”

“Of course.” In the background, she could hear Torrent’s reasoning voice, interspersed with Taa’s hysterical whining and Burtoni’s whiplash comments.

“Whatever happens, keep them safe. Yourselves, too, and anyone else you can.”

“Copy that, Hel. Good luck.”

“Open channel, Lightning Five. And may the Force be with you.” She cut the connection. They were good men. They’d do their job, and survive. Now she had to do the same.

The boarding craft had penetrated the shields at their weakest point. Not difficult, with all the obvious action being at the bows, draining power from the aft shields. It hit the hull hard enough to drive its segmented spike right the way through. The segments opened with a hiss of hydraulics, revealing a circular aperture wide enough to admit six blaster-wielding commando droids and…

“General Grievous.” Helli’s tone was low and soft, without a trace of the wrath that surged through her. So many of her brothers and sisters had died at this man’s hands. She held her position until the wave of rage had dissipated. Quite apart from the moral and spiritual consequences of submitting to anger, it played havoc with one’s combat technique. “I thought it might be you.”

“Did you, indeed?” Grievous’ voice sent another rage-wave crashing through Hel. She’d heard enough recordings of it. “I was expecting Kenobi or Skywalker.”

“Change of plan. _General_ Kenobi and _General_ Skywalker should be on Coruscant by now. I presume you’re responsible for our lack of fuel? Good thing we switched ships at the last minute.”

“So who are you, little girl?” The anger this time had nothing to do with Grievous’ reputation, and everything to do with being _patronised_ again.

“General Helli Abbasa. Jedi Knight and commander of Lightning Squadron. And arresting you on multiple charges of murder, and other offences to be specified at a later date.”

Grievous’ laugh grated on Hel’s already raw nerves. “The Jedi must be getting desperate, if they send a _child_ like you on a mission like this. All right; I’ll play your little game. If you can beat me, in single combat, you can arrest me. Or kill me, if you wish. But if I win, I get to kill you. Does that sound… fair?”

“As fair as I’ll get from you, I suspect. Very well. Send your men away.” She wasn’t surprised when the droids, in response to Grievous’ dismissal gesture, made for the ship’s lifts rather than their own craft, but made sure to feign dismay. She’d anticipated that some droids would get past her and try to carry out their mission, which was why the lifts were rigged with EMP devices. That lot wouldn’t go anywhere for a while. Nor would the lifts. They’d recover in time, but even if she was still distracted by Grievous her squad could handle it.

The droids weren’t her priority. Grievous was. She shifted into a ready stance, sabre in her hands but inactive. It was a dual-blade type, perfect for defence or multiple opponents, easily converted to a single blade for pair-fighting or using it as a tool. Unusual enough among Jedi for Grievous to comment on it. “That will make a fine addition to my collection when I kill you. Rather like this one.” He withdrew a sabre hilt from somewhere in his carapace. “You remind me of its former owner.”

Hel couldn’t stop herself reaching out through the Force towards the sabre Grievous held. Not to take it off him; she wanted him only slightly off-balance, not feral with rage. Just to find out who had made it. The kyber crystal at its heart was sentient, and such a crystal often remembers its true master. It didn’t use any organic’s or droid’s language, but communicated in sense-impressions and memories. An ocean world. An underwater city, buildings linked by tubes. Mon Cala and Quarren. Beauty and life. And – fog. Darkness. Underground. Statues just recognisable as depictions of the cyborg in front of her. Dead soldiers. Rage. Fear. So much pain. Then nothing. She didn’t have to think hard to work out whose memories she was seeing. His name rose automatically to her lips, and slipped out as a whisper as she fought back sudden tears. “Nahdar.”

“That foolish boy I gutted like the fish he was? He was your friend?” Grievous couldn’t provoke her now. As had happened before, when she had failed one of her team, grief had emptied her of all other feelings. “Yes, Nahdar Vebb was my friend. He was also a true Jedi. I won’t dishonour him by seeking revenge.” She raised her sabre into a guarding position and ignited both blades. “But nor will I fail to bring his killer to justice if I can help it.”

“Then this should be interesting.” Grievous returned Nahdar’s sabre to its hiding place and drew two more. Dual-blades like hers (which would limit his limb-number options), spinning so fast they were blurs of blue and green. As she anticipated, he didn’t wait for an opening, but leapt straight for her, probably expecting her to block. Not duck, roll and come up behind him in a fighting stance, which was what she did. Her counterattack would have taken his arm off if he’d been slightly slower to recover. That more or less set the tone for the duel. Hel had a gift for doing the unexpected, usually because she didn’t know what _was_ expected, or even what was and wasn’t possible. And she blended Jedi training with the fighting skills of her home planet. Children on Alba started learning defensive, non-lethal combat even earlier than Jedi younglings. The result, on the rare occasions when a Pict was gifted with Force sensitivity, was a style unlike any other. It kept Grievous off balance beautifully.

Which was just as well. When their blades did clash, she could feel the power in his upgraded body. She wondered what it was like in there. How much could he sense? Did he know heat and cold, hunger and thirst, or pain? Not pain, she confirmed as a wild swipe towards her head let her drop down into a low lunge, torso gliding forwards, and sweep her blade through his legs. The howl that was his first response was one of outrage, not the agony a pure organic would have felt. The upper part of his body fell towards her, almost knocking her flat. She had her work cut out to avoid both it and his flailing sabres. It probably wasn’t good for her spine to twist like that, but it was that or let it be severed. Before he could push himself up, she rose to her full height and put a foot on his neck, one point of her sabre just behind his head. She’d never kill him, but he couldn’t be sure of that. “I win.”

He roared again, a pure animal sound that nearly damaged her eardrums. One of his sabres had been knocked out of reach when he hit the floor; he tried to lash out at her with the other, but the angles were all wrong. Before he could work out a way to compensate (not feeling pain, he could dislocate joints quite easily, she realised), she removed part of the offending limb-pair, and steeled herself – the pun was awful but so tempting – to do the same to the other.

Only when Grievous was fully disarmed – another terrible but irresistible pun – could Helli calm her racing heart enough to keep a steady hand as she sedated him. She’d taken to carrying a few medical supplies to speed things along when her unit was deployed in a disaster zone (natural, man-made or droid-made). Now, she found a hypo of fast-acting tranquilliser and an area of Grievous’ neck just accessible under his helmet, part of the small quantity of his natural flesh he hadn’t replaced. Kneeling on his back, ignoring his shouts of protest with some difficulty and praying that there was no species or idiosyncratic incompatibility that would render the drug useless or harmful, she administered it and waited for it to take effect. Confident that he was genuinely unconscious and not in danger, she bound him as best she could, then signalled her team. Torrent answered.

“Lightning Two, this is Lightning One. I’m in the cargo bay, and I have General Grievous in custody. Six commando droids isolated in the lifts. I may require some assistance getting them back into their ship or into the brig before they wake up.”

“Copy that, Lightning One. Lightning Three and Lightning Four will be with you shortly. Lightning Five and I will stay here just in case.”

“Good thinking, Lightning Two. Any problems your end?”

“Nothing we can’t handle.” Helli could hear the chronic, low-grade senatorial wrangling still going on.

“That’s good. Have you heard from the captain?”

“Not directly, except when he asks where you are, but things must be all right. We jumped to hyperspace five minutes ago, in case you hadn’t noticed.” Helli hadn’t. Too caught up with her own fight. Well, that took one lot of variables out of the equation. But by the sound of it, she’d have another fight on her hands soon. The EMPs in the lifts had worn off, and there were now some very disorientated commando droids looking for a scrap. Hel sighed, double-checked Grievous’ status and drew her sabre again before opening the relevant lift doors. Best to keep them focused on her.

As expected, her new opponents were, to a droid, trying to get up into the main body of the ship, either through the lift ceilings or by getting the contraptions working again. Hel had to distract them. “Hey, tinnies! Why don’t you pick on someone your own shape?”

It worked. Too well for comfort. Blaster fire lanced towards her, and she batted it away with the ease of too much practice. But sooner or later, they’d realise that their targets were elsewhere and that she was an irrelevance.

For the moment, though, she had enough of their attention that they didn’t sense the two armoured figures rappelling down from a maintenance hatch high up on the wall behind them. Not until a modified droid popper came to a halt between two of the commandos and detonated, rendering them inactive for much longer than the EMPs had. When the other four turned to face this new threat, Fives and Echo were waiting. Final score: ARC troopers, six stunned droids; droids, one slight scorch mark on Echo’s armour. And all in record time.

“Stars, I’m glad to see you two!” Helli could be as indiscreet as she liked in person. “One bombad clanker is enough for one day.”

“Good to see you’re in one piece, too.” Fives was presumably returning her smile, but it was hard to tell under the helmet. “And that _he_ isn’t.”

“Yes, he’s pretty ‘armless now.” Helli couldn’t resist. The groan from her friends was too satisfying. “All the same, we’d better get him into the brig sharpish. This lot, too.” She looked around at the General’s escort.

“You’d better talk to the captain first.” Echo, always the sensible one, unless circumstances dictated otherwise. “He’s been asking us where you are since we jumped.”

“Skies above, I’d half-forgotten about him.” Helli retuned her commlink to the bridge’s internal channel and reported her status before requesting an update and some assistance with her captives. The shields had held for long enough to make the jump to hyperspace, and the enemy ship had been left drifting, without nav or comms. Exactly what she’d have done. She made a mental note to apologise to the captain for her rudeness earlier. He wasn’t precisely happy about having General Grievous as a guest for the rest of the trip, but agreed to arrange transport and for the prisoner to be sedated until they reached Coruscant. Grievous was too dangerous for them to take any chances.

The final call Helli had to make, the moment they hit realspace, was to the Council, to organise a welcoming committee for Grievous. General Fisto happened to be on comms duty, and promised to meet them in person. Helli was glad. She liked the Nautolan Jedi Master a lot, and knew he shared her feelings about Grievous. Nahdar had been his apprentice, and Fisto had watched him die, powerless to intervene. It wasn’t that he needed closure – he was too much a Jedi for that – but it did seem fitting, somehow. Besides, the extra training he had given her had played a major part in her victory.

Once Grievous was safely in the brig, with an IV line linked to what passed for his circulation, Helli braced herself and returned to the senators. As predicted, Senator Burtoni was in a right state. “General Abbasa, where have you been? This ship has been under attack, our lives in danger, and we had only your _clones_ to protect us.”

“My _men_ are equal to any challenge. I knew I could rely on them. As for where I’ve been – would it interest you to know that General Grievous and six commando droids are now in the brig?”

“General Grievous?” Senator Taa had gone pale, his voice higher than hers.

“Yes, Senator. Sedated and missing parts of all limbs. I defeated him in single combat, but his escort might have finished me off had it not been for my _men_.” She’d stunned him into silence, thankfully. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe we are approaching Coruscant, and I need to oversee my prisoners’ transfer.” She bowed and headed off to more congenial duties.

Master Fisto was as good as his word. He was waiting for them when they docked, with all the paraphernalia and personnel necessary to keep Grievous under lock and key for a very long time. Helli could sense the relief under the Jedi’s calm exterior at having his former padawan’s killer in binders at last.

“What happens now?”, Helli asked as Grievous was wheeled away, still sedated.

“The Separatists will do anything to get him back, and eventually they will. Let’s hope they try it through diplomatic channels first. It will take longer, and result in fewer deaths.”

“Except from boredom.” Helli had half-forgotten she wasn’t among her squad-mates, but Master Fisto didn’t seem to mind. He turned to face her, warmth beneath the ever-present serene smile.

“You did well today. Even Skywalker couldn’t have done better.” _That_ was _very_ high praise. Anakin Skywalker was a legend in his own lifetime.

“Thank you, Master. But I may well not have survived without my team.” She glanced over to where the rest of Lightning Squadron, plus Captain Rex and a cluster of bureaucrats, were sorting out the paperwork for the droid prisoners. It had degenerated into the inevitable argument.

“Even so, few have taken on Grievous alone and lived, let alone won.” There was just a faint shadow of grief in his Force-presence now. She knew he was thinking of Nahdar.

“That reminds me.” Helli fished around (horribly accurate phrase) in her pack and brought out Nahdar’s sabre. “I took this off Grievous. I thought you ought to have it.”

Fisto took the sabre, sensing its ingrained impressions and memories just as she had. “No, you keep it.” He handed it back, and she took it without comment. “I remember how close you were. That couldn’t have made it easy for you.”

“Actually, it made things easier. I knew I couldn’t taint Nahdar’s memory by taking revenge, or losing myself trying. He was a true Jedi.”

“As are you.” The warm smile had returned. “You’ve shown that you can guard against losing your head, even when sorely provoked.” Then he put a hand on her shoulder, expression turning serious. “Just – try not to lose your heart instead.” Did he know about her and Torrent? How? Or was it a generic warning? Or did he mean something different – that she should stay compassionate and open-hearted? His eyes were as unreadable as ever. Whatever he meant, the answer was the same.

“I’ll do my best, Master. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome – young Jedi.”

**Author's Note:**

> I will get back to the team's post-Order 66 shenanigans soon. This and the next fic just demanded to be written first.


End file.
